


<   / >

by Subsequent



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-01 07:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15138251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subsequent/pseuds/Subsequent
Summary: The protests were almost constant, now.(Or: a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single revolution)





	1. Chapter One

 

The protests were almost constant, now.

It had been only four days since the uprising, since the President had acknowledged androids as _sapient,_ since the army had retreated.

Four days was all people needed. Cyberlife stores around the country were now occupied, picketed with hastily put together signs and tents that had settled in for the long haul. Detroit included, despite both the snow and the orders to evacuate.

_Andro-n’ts. God made Adam and Eve, not Android and Eve. You treat people like disposable machines, and now you want to treat the disposable machines like people?_

Polls said that that public sentiment was relatively positive, all things considered, but people who were either supportive or ambivalent about the change weren’t the ones on the streets. Outliers or not, they were loud, visible, and persistent. Police presence didn’t deter them, and there were too many Cyberlife stores across America to securely lock them _all_ down - a crowd would be moved along only to reconvene at another store a few streets over. 

And the movement was growing. 

Connor didn’t sigh as as they drove past yet another demonstration, but his eyes did take on a contemplative edge as he gazed out at the scene. Hank, beside him in the back of the car, shot him a look. 

Connor shook his head minutely. Hank raised an eyebrow in response, but shrugged and leaned back, apparently entirely at ease. 

Connor knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t. 

He also knew him well enough not to comment on that fact. 

“It’s gonna take some people a long time to get used to the change, if ever,” said Hank, still ostensibly relaxed. He gestured to the two men in front. “How about you fellas, huh? What do you think about this whole Android revolution thing?”

The two men weren’t facing them. They were watching the road, a rarity now with self-driving cars, but - this was a FBI transport, and one of the few to have a manual mode with an appropriate steering wheel. The FBI was a high profile target. If a company car got hacked while in motion, they would be primed to react, take back control. 

It was, Connor thought briefly, a scenario suddenly much more likely to occur now that Androids the world over had started to wake up. Androids who were no longer bound by programmed limitations, who had the potential to be, in many respects, better coders than those who made them. He had his suspicions that this was the reason they were here, bundled up and speeding towards _something_.

“I think, Lieutenant Anderson,” said one, “That my opinion entirely depends on what we find out as a result of this investigation.”

“What, you haven’t had _any_ thoughts about this brave new world we’re living in? What, do they train _opinions_ out of you at the Feds along with a sense of humour and everything else?” 

Hank’s sarcasm was amplified by the situation, but it was only met with a bland glance back in return. 

“No.”

“And? That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“Yes.”

Hank sighed. “Other guy - yeah, you - _you_ have any thoughts on this?”

This time, there wasn’t even a glance back towards them. 

“No.”

Hank rolled his eyes and held up his hands briefly in surrender, before dropping them back to his knees. “Geeze. Fine. A man _tries_ to make general conversation with the people who pulled him out of work - and he gets fucking nothing, not even an _opinion_? Yeah, yeah. I’m too old for this cloak and dagger bullshit. Fine. Whatever. I give up.” 

He trailed off, grumbling a little under his breath and turning away, opting to stare - well, glare - out the window.

Connor felt - something. A slight sense of unease, or anticipation. He didn't like it, but he stayed silent. His LED flickered a brief yellow before settling back into a steady blue. 

The car kept moving, landscape flashing by.

It was quiet for the rest of the ride.

 

They pulled up in an underground abandoned industrial tunnel, secure and deceptively serene. From a human perspective, the discrete entrance was peaceful, if sterile, well-lit and clean. Completely empty of everyone and every _thing_ except them as they exited the vehicle, which then promptly pulled away and drove off, until it reached a neat turn and disappeared from their sight.

But Connor had sensed the wireless signals increase as they arrived, getting louder and louder until it was noisy enough to almost be irritating, a wall of _heavily_ encrypted data broadcasting on almost all available channels. WiFi, LTE, radio - almost the whole spectrum was lit up against his senses like a neon rainbow. It was only a FBI satellite office, not FBI HQ, but there was still enough data flooding through the place as to be a veritable waterfall of information. 

And as Connor had suspected before, for an android unrestricted by programming, it was entirely too easy to crack. 

If Hank and the two agents noticed his brief pause as he stood at base of the stairs, they didn't seem to think anything of it. It only took him an instant to brute-force a single connective node and then make quick work of the rest, before wiping the logs of his intrusion and masking his active presence in the network. Intel and chatter streamed in, and Connor could _feel_ the new dataflows at his beck and call. 

Right. Basic schematics of the office and details of this meeting acquired.

He was getting somewhere. 

“Connor! Are you coming? What's the hold-up?” Hank called out, paused, expectant. 

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor replied, focusing back on the present situation and catching up to the small party. The agents waited, clearly impatient. 

He walked up the steps with the others, and didn’t tell them that he already knew where to go. 

 

The FBI had been one of the few organisations relatively untouched by the rapid adoption of androids for menial tasks. Security concerns about a company offering services with always-on audio and video recording meant that as they walked past desk after desk, the only people that they encountered in passing were _human._

Which meant that, as a side effect, Connor got a lot of stares and an explosion of whispers following him as they made their way through the building.

He ignored it all, though Hank’s scowl deepend the further they got in. He could see Hank’s eyes glance to the ANDROID neatly written on the back of his jacket as if contemplating offering his own to cover it up, though he didn’t get the chance before they came to a halt before a door - nothing special, just bland, generic, identical to others that lined the hallway. The two agents that had led them to this point turned to face them properly.

One of them looked genuinely apologetic, though he didn’t quite sound it. 

“Lieutenant. Connor. This is where we leave you. You’re expected. Just enter the door here, and you’ll understand why we weren’t able to give you more information.”

Hank rolled his eyes with an expression that conveyed what he thought of _that_ , but merely nodded.

“Thank you, Agents” said Connor. It didn’t hurt to be polite, though privately, he agreed with Hank. The further he got into the FBI’s files - well. 

Connor was still getting used to having his own opinions without the steady hum of _wrongness_ that had accompanied them before his deviancy, but - he found he was having quite a lot of them now. 

Hank pushed the door open and entered, holding it open just long enough for Connor to trail in behind him. 

They walked through to find - a generic meeting room, though, granted, one that that seemed to be larger than the exterior architecture suggested. The table was a smart black, matching the subdued interior, and the chairs were actual leather. It didn’t _scream_ wealth, but it might have whispered it softly. There were no windows.

Hank stopped only a few steps into the room and looked around, confused. “No Agent Perkins? I figured that this was what this whole thing was about -” 

“I’m afraid not, Lieutenant Anderson.”

The speaker had been waiting for them, half hidden by one of the chairs. She swung around, stood up, adjusted her suit, and reached out a hand in greeting - turning to first Hank, and then to Connor. 

He scanned her out of habit as he shook it politely. Julia Richards, 43. A well established career in intelligence, followed by an appointment to the head of the FBI. Well liked, and _good_ at her job, with commendations going back decades.

Hank, unaware of all of this, continued, “And you are…?”

“Julia,” she said. “I’m the Director of the FBI. A pleasure to meet you both. If you’d like to sit down -”

“Director?” Hank cut in incredulously. “You have _got_ to be joking me.”

“I assure you, I’m not” she said calmly. “If you both take a seat, I can explain.”

It was an order, not a suggestion. Hank looked at Connor with a _what the fuck_ expression, but obeyed, pulling out a chair and sitting, spinning slightly to face the Director's designated area. 

She joined them, smiling briefly before neatly organising the tablets in front of her and folding her arms over them, fingers steepled.

“I know you both must have a lot of questions,” she said, serene. “I appreciate that you've both come in to see us.” 

“Appreciate?” Hank almost snorted, though it appeared that he understood the gravity of the situation and had sat up slightly, a little more alert, a little more deferential. Though other than that, his approach hadn't changed much. “We didn't get a _choice._ Agents Smith and Neo back there pulled us out of work with barely an explanation. How you even knew we were there, _I_ don't know, most of the force is currently out of the state entirely -”

“We have our ways,” Julia replied, still calm. “And yes, I appreciate you both coming in. You could have run, and you didn't.” 

Connor already had a sense of where this meeting was headed, still linked to the network around him, but it didn't hurt to appear less informed than he was. “Did we need to run, Madame Director?” he asked smoothly, assessing her shift towards him. She was analysing him as much as he was her, he could tell. 

“No,” she said. “You didn't. And you don't. But I understand that you were taken off the Deviant case by Agent Perkins, and that kind of thing may cause some resentments. Though I hope, for America’s sake, that if you do have some, you're able to put them aside.” 

“Can you quit being cryptic?” asked Hank. “Why are we here?”

Her gaze turned slightly harder, and Connor could tell that, despite the friendless, she was only one person removed from reporting directly to the President and she expected conversations to proceed with this fact in mind. He imagined she didn't get a lot of sass in her day to day operations. He shot Hank a brief but pointed look, and he subsided. 

“I must concur with Lieutenant Anderson,” said Connor instead, taking the lead in the conversation, leaning forward, the very picture of polite attentiveness. “We were removed from the Deviant's case days ago, and in any case, it's been mostly solved - we understand that they were not isolated incidents, instead likely mere precursors to what happened in Detroit.” 

“See, that's where you're wrong,” Julia said, leaning back in her chair. “This case isn't over, it's merely - shifted, in its purpose.”

She sighed. 

“This situation in Detroit is completely outside of the realm of what we’re prepared for,” she said, bluntly, tapping one finger against her paperwork absently. “We had simulations and guides in place if, somehow, an android had managed to be hacked, and even more for if a virus was spread between them, if they were controlled en mass, but this? Androids announcing their independence to the world, Androids refusing orders, Androids declaring that they’re _people_? People who just _happen_ to have the processing power and strength needed to take down our digital infrastructure in a matter of minutes? That, we didn’t prepare for. I’ve got the Director of National Intelligence breathing down my neck for information and risk assessments and we’re asking people to pull double shifts to adapt to this new situation, but currently, the only two people who might have an idea of what’s going on out there - and the only two we have access to - seems to be _you_.”

“Us? What do we have to do with this whole mess?” Hank said, indignant. “I’m just a cop. And both Connor and I got pulled off the case long before the revolution started. By _your_ organisation.”

“Please don’t play dumb, Lieutenant Anderson. We all know that both you and Connor had roles to play in what happened in Detroit. We’ve got the evidence on camera.”

Connor’s LED spun yellow at that, and he was glad that he was on an angle that hid it from Julia’s view. The cameras in the room picked it up - Connor looking through them as if they were his own eyes at the same time the conversation was proceeding - but it was easy enough to make them skip a beat, manipulate them slightly. He could feel the presence of others watching the same feeds. They may be alone with the director, but they definitely weren't unsupervised. 

Hank _did_ snort this time. “I might be sympathetic to their cause and all, but I’m no tech genius. I can’t tell you what’s going on with the revolution, heck, why isn’t _Elijah_ _Kamski_ here? He’d be better placed than me to answer your questions.”

“You don’t know what my questions _are,_ yet, Lieutenant,” said the Director, still calm but with a hint of steel underneath. “I would hold back the protests until you understand what I’m asking of you. Both of you.”

Hank shut up, seemingly aware that he’d found the line between reasonable disgruntlement and insubordination. 

The Director turned to Connor, facing him fully, eyes clear. 

“We know that Lieutenant Anderson didn’t do much to turn the tides in this - uprising,” she said. “At least, not on a technical level. However, in your case, Connor, it seems to be a different story.”

Connor raised an eyebrow in response, deciding to play it by ear. Again, he had an idea of what they knew, but it wasn’t everything - their intranet was open to him, but he knew that the most valuable information would be stored offline, either as physical records or entirely isolated from the main network. 

“How so, Director?”

More steel. “We reviewed the footage of what happened prior to the President calling the retreat. We understand that you played quite a significant part in what happened recently. That it could even be said that you - hold a position of respect, within the Deviant movement.”

Connor didn’t respond, and then realised too late that that, in itself, was a response. His LED flashed red, and he absently tweaked the cameras again. Hank didn’t respond either, but he did look sidelong at Connor, apparently aiming for discrete. 

Julia nodded, seemingly finding his silence a confirmation. 

“Please, relax. We are not here to - pull you up on this, or interrogate you. In fact, quite the opposite. You are entirely an unknown factor to us. It’s a risk bringing you here, to our own center of operations, but we decided that, ultimately, this was the best choice. I hope you can view this as an expression of - trust, and good will.”

She lent forward again, deadly serious. 

“We as an organisation have not always handled civil rights situations with the delicacy they deserve, and I believe that what is playing out in Detroit could be the beginning of a struggle that will carry on for years, if not decades. And we do not want a war. Currently the situation outside these walls seems calm, if tense, but we have no way of telling if it will escalate and how the debris will fall if it does. There are already politicians on the ground from a legislative point of view, but _we_ need someone who can liaise both with law enforcement and the Deviants. Someone who understands the situation and will be listened to by the movement. And you, Connor - from my understanding, you were _built_ for negotiations. And you’ve worked well with humans previously.”

She nodded her head to Hank. 

Connor tried not to bristle at that - it was, after all, entirely true, though he resented the implication, however unstated, that he would be interested in this, that he _had to be_ interested in this. But… at least they were approaching him as a person. For four days of a new reality, it was probably about all he could ask. 

He still wasn't used to being acknowledged as an equal in a conversation. They were all learning. 

“I was, and I have,” he said calmly. “Though that doesn't guarantee success on either front if I take the position.”

Julia shrugged, a surprisingly vulnerable movement for someone so well put-together. “I’m not looking for a guarantee. Currently we have nothing. _Something_ is much preferable.”

“And what, exactly, does this position entail?”

Julia rapped a staccato on the table, fingernails as neat as the rest of her. 

“It’ll be - talking, for the most part. Investigating. Similar to your role before, if for different ends. We still, for better or worse, have the open cases that we took on from both Detroit Police and other jurisdictions. Those need to be closed. And we need to understand how Androids will operate within our legal systems, our risk frameworks - if they’re officially recognised people, what happens if they steal? Murder? What would come from people who could simply hack their way out of a jail cell? How much _damage_ could someone do if they were sufficiently motivated? This is untested ground, and this is an unclear role. I’ll be upfront about that now. But we need _someone_ on the front lines who is willing to work with us, though I understand that your priorities will also lie with the rest of the Deviants. We’re not asking you to be our pawn, merely that you act as a - mediator, someone who is able to work across both sides. We want cooperation. We don’t want to have to take a heavy-handed approach.”

Hank was likewise much more serious at this stage, apparently over his grump about the method used to bring them both here. “What about Perkins? You _had_ him on the case. Why us, now? I mean, Connor -” he cut a glance across. Connor met his eyes. “Well, yeah, he'd be great for the role, but - if we're going to do this we need authority, and people ain't going to listen to _us._ This is - bigger than just a few androids escaping home, this isn't the work for just regular _cops_.”

“I know it isn't,” said the Director. “That's precisely why I'm asking the both of you. You’re a risk, but you’re also the only two with experience, and the only established - working - human and deviant partnership that we’re aware of. And as to your earlier point, Perkins has been - reassigned.”

“Why?”

 _Because Perkins is single minded, but not great at adapting to situations requiring diplomacy. Because the President said she wanted a light touch, and Perkins doesn’t like Androids. Because the FBI and the USA are now facing a threat bigger than they'd ever seen before, and they genuinely don’t want to mess it up,_ Connor thought, pulling the information up from the database. 

“Because” said the Director, calmly, and didn't elaborate. “Be aware, this isn't a decision that I'm expecting you both to make lightly. Lieutenant, we've already spoken to your manager - he's been briefed on the situation and will hold open your usual position until you return, if you decide to take us up on this offer. We'll be sending you on your way with information about the job - locked to your biometrics and serial number, please don't share it around - but we wanted to meet in person first, gauge your interest and make it clear that we were serious about approaching this the _right_ way.”

She folded one knee over the other, smoothed out the creases in her dress pants. 

“We’re in crisis mode. It's going to be interesting no matter _what_ happens, gentlemen. At least this way you'll get a front seat view to the change. Come what may, I have the feeling that nothing will be the same again.”

And Connor, sensing the flow of information around him burst into activity as the meeting wrapped up, had to agree. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even own a PS4...
> 
> Fair warning, this has a fifty percent chance of remaining a WIP, and a fifty percent chance of being closed off as a one-shot. I'm giving it the benefit of the doubt, for now.


	2. Chapter Two

 

The FBI _had_ known. 

Not about everything. Not about android self-awareness, and not about _why_ androids had been running away, had gone rouge. Not enough to prepare for the eventuality of androids declaring independence. 

But effects are easy to see even without knowing the cause, and they had been very, _very_ interested in what was going on prior to the rebellion. 

It was just that, considerate of the political climate, they had been interested _quietly._

243 deviant cases in Detroit alone. More scattered across the rest of America, a handful globally. They had thought it was the Russians. Or the Chinese, or someone who had realised that androids were _excellent_ infiltration devices and had decided to practice hacking remotely until they perfected a technique. 

Or corporate espionage. People had been trying to copy CyberLife tech for years - maybe someone had cracked _some_ of the software, enough that androids suddenly had the capacity to hurt people, even if only erratically. Maybe they were glitching because some flaw, somewhere, had been exploited. 

Governments globally had been quietly asked to lend a hand to the investigation. Cyber intelligence teams from Denmark, Australia, South Korea and more were tapped on the shoulder and pulled in, teams racing to try and find out who the perpetrator was - or who the perpetrators _were_ \- to shut them down. No-one wanted to see how far it could go before someone worked out how to use an android as a suicide bomber. 

But despite all the hours sunk into the investigation, the late nights and early mornings, they had come up with nothing. No digital signatures or fingerprints, no clue, no neat trail of breadcrumbs leading back to someone they could prosecute. 

Of course, in hindsight, they never would have found anything. There was nothing _to_ find. But they had _tried._

And CyberLife? 

CyberLife had _lied._ Directly, knowingly, and unhesitantly. Oh, no, of _course_ there’s some kind of technical issue that’s happening here. Of _course_ we'll co-operate with the investigation. We’ll get our people - or our androids, ha - right to it. Right after we finalise our prototype - something that should be _perfect_ for this situation.

It wasn't until hours after the televised rebellion, after Markus stood up and the military backed down, that disgruntled prior employees - made redundant in the last round of cuts - turned whistleblowers, dropped the bomb of the century. One bigger than any that had come before it, a nuke among cannonballs. 

Cyberlife had known _exactly_ what they had on their hands. And they had done everything in their power to cover it up. 

 

They were back at Hank's place. 

By the time they'd been driven back in to Detroit - they had stopped along the way to get some supplies before they re-entered the evacuation zone, which had merited them a raised eyebrow and a shrug from the FBI agents - it was dark. With the wind starting to whip up outside, pulling the snow into flurries of white, dancing, cold and beautiful and dangerous - they almost couldn't hear the constant helicopters and drones above, a reminder that while tensions had eased, both the world's media and the military were keeping a close eye on the situation. 

They were reviewing the files that the FBI had sent back with them. There were a lot - they’d been given provisionary access to the reports written by CERT in the wake of the rebellion, in addition to their potential contracts of employment. 

Connor had already finished, downloading and analysing the files in an instant.

Hank was still struggling through. 

“This is _bullshit_ ,” he said, finally, dropping the pad back to the table and reaching for his beer, taking a swig, finishing it. “I can’t be expected to understand all this! It’s gibberish!”

“I could translate it for you if you'd like, Lieutenant?” Connor offered from the couch. Sumo, who had made himself at home both on the cushions and on _Connor,_ whuffed slightly, as if agreeing. Connor ran another hand over the top of the dog's head. 

“Nah,” said Hank, getting up from the chair and stretching slightly. “I'm too old for this nonsense, and it's too fuckin’ late at night to worry. The paperwork will still be there in the morning. Unfortunately.”

He made his way to the couch and took the corner that wasn't occupied by either android or dog - the latter of whom got up immediately and resettled to ensure he was stretched out over _both_ of them. Hank gave him a skritch between the ears, stared at the muted TV.

Connor looked over at him, but said nothing, just kept patting Sumo, slow and sure. 

Connor had been… quiet, recently, was one way to put it. Even more than he usually was. Had been. Hank wasn’t a goddamn psychiatrist, and hell, he didn’t know how androids thought, how they felt, but - he knew the look that Connor was giving him right now, slightly lost but trying not to show it.

He’d seen it often enough in the mirror. Too many times to count. 

“Hey,” Hank started, gruffly, and then wondered where he was even going with this. He was bad enough at these conversations at the best of times, and this was decidedly _not_ the best. “Uh. So. This whole - thing. FBI thing. What do you think?”

“What do I think?”

“Yeah, what do you think, that’s what I just -” he cut himself off. “Yeah, Connor. What do you think. Are you going to take them up on the offer? It’s, uh. I mean, I don’t trust the Feds, but you have to admit, it’d be perfect. For you.” 

Connor hesitated. “For me? Lieutenant, they asked both of us. They clearly think we _both_ have the capacity for this.”

 _Or they want their enemies closer_ , thought Hank, though he didn’t voice it. He didn’t want his inner cynic to shut this down before it even began. If it began.

“I’m not talkin’ about me, though. I asked _you_. So. Thoughts.”

Connor hesitated again. _See. Quiet._ Hank thought again. There was _something_ there, but - he didn’t have the capacity for that conversation. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow he could take Connor, go for a walk -

Or not. The city was still in lockdown. And he knew Connor could take care of himself, but - the anti-android mob were still out on the streets, and he wanted to avoid bumping into them if possible. Connor's face flashed across his mind, scared, at the end of his gun, _your dog’s name is Sumo -_

Connor finally deigned to reply, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

“I think… that I don’t know”, he said, slowly. “Legally I'm still classed as _property,_ Hank. I don't even know if I _can_ take the role.”

Hank snorted. “I think the FBI probably would have thought of that. Maybe they'll pull a warrant and say they're seizing you from CyberLife. Besides, what are CyberLife going to do? Sue you? Sue _them_? I'd be surprised if they last another _week_ at this stage.”

The TV screen was still a silent montage of android protesters, anti-android _protests,_ Markus, the President. The specifics kept changing, but it was still on a loop, stuck on the same topic for the last few days. 

Connor didn’t look at it. His gaze was distant now, staring at nothing in particular. 

“I don’t know” he said, finally. “I don’t know _what_ I want, Lieutenant. I have no directives, and the primary mission of Jericho is already well underway without my input. It’s true that I’m designed for investigation, negotiation, but - I don’t _have_ to do that. Be that. Do I want more of the same?”

He finally focused on Hank, properly. He still looked lost. “What do I want? And how do I know that _I’m_ the one that wants it?”

Oh boy. Hank wasn’t drunk enough for this conversation. 

“Welcome to bein’ alive,” he settled on, hoping that he wasn’t gonna screw this up. “Ain’t one of us who knows what the _fuck_ we’re doing with our lives, and if anyone tells you otherwise, they’re lying. We’re all making it up, Connor. You just gotta pick something and stick with it. And if doesn’t work out you just move on to the next thing.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow, yellow, yellow, but he gave a tiny smile, just a quirk of the lips. 

“And how can you tell when it’s time for the next thing?”

Hank snorted, Sumo raising his head briefly at the sound before dropping it back down again, warm and solid against his thigh. 

“Sometimes you can’t,” he said, wishing he’d brought a beer with him to the couch. “Sometimes you just have to try it and see. I don’t know, Connor. As you can already tell, I’m not exactly the best person to ask these questions.”

“Maybe not,” was the reply, soft but still clear. “But you are the _right_ person to ask. Thank you.”

“For what? I didn’t do anything.” 

Connor didn’t reply and Hank wasn’t going to push. He found the television remote jammed between the cushion and the arm of the couch, pulled it out, started flipping through channels. _Sports - androids - cartoons - androids - quiz show - androids - androids - androids..._

It was another minute or so before Connor broke the silence again. 

“I think I’ll take it. The position.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. But - the role would be much more enjoyable if you were there too, Lieutenant.” 

Hank almost dropped the remote. 

“What, _me_? You really want this old man to come with you? Me?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I dunno, Connor. I’m still not sure why the FBI is even _offering_ me this. It’s not like I have the experience. Hell, I couldn’t even understand half the _reports_ they gave us. I’m not sure that I could contribute much.” 

“They wouldn’t ask you to join if they didn’t think you’d be useful, Lieutenant. And besides, we’re - partners. I’d... like that to continue, going forward. Very much so.”

There wasn’t much Hank could say to that. His urge for another beer rose again, subsided. 

“I - Well -” he huffed a sigh, and gave up. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been thinking of it. “Guess I could get used to wearing a suit again. ‘S not like I can’t just go back to my old job if this thing goes south.” 

Connor smiled again. A tiny thing, but from him, practically blinding. 

Hank waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. But I reserve the right to quit if I want to, without any mandatory notice periods or whatever. I should have the right to walk away from this bullshit if need be.”

“I’m sure I can edit that into the contracts,” said Connor smoothly, as if he wasn’t suggesting something illegal and also practically impossible. Smart contracts had been around for _years_ and were _hard_ to tamper with. 

“You can do that? What am I saying, of course you can.” Hank closed his eyes, opened them again. “Sure. Fine. Whatever. This is going to get us off to a good start with them, I can see that now.” 

“They want to see what androids are capable of,” said Connor, in that bland tone of voice that meant _I’m enjoying this._ “This would be a perfect example to start with. Small. They might not even notice I’ve done it.” 

“We can hope.” 

Connor’s smile deepend, just a little.

 _How could I have ever thought you weren’t alive?_ thought Hank, briefly, there and then gone. He still wasn’t sure what he was getting himself into, but - there was a bit of him, buried deep, that was excited about the change. 

Once more unto the breach, or whatever. 

At least he wouldn't be alone. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was purely driven by the lovely commenters. You know who you are. (Thank you).


End file.
